Elara stared at the camera screen, her hands trembling slightly.
The photo still showed her standing in front of the hidden door… her hand stretched toward it like she was about to touch it. But she clearly remembered standing far away when she took that picture.
"I never went that close…" she whispered.
Her heart began beating harder. She zoomed into the photo. The strange carvings on the door looked sharper now. The symbols twisted around each other like they were alive. And the words scratched across the wood WELCOME BACK looked fresh, almost wet.
Elara quickly closed the camera screen and took a deep breath.
"This is not real," she told herself.
But her voice sounded unsure.
The corridor around her felt colder than before. The air smelled different too… like wet soil mixed with something sweet, almost like roses left too long in water.
She stepped backward slowly, planning to leave the corridor. But before she could turn around, she heard something faint.
A whisper.
"Elara…"
Her entire body froze.
The voice was soft and distant, like someone calling from another room. She turned her head slightly, trying to find where it came from.
Silence returned.
She swallowed nervously. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing through the hallway.
No reply.
Elara shook her head, trying to convince herself it was just the wind. She turned to leave again.
"Elara…"
The whisper came again.
This time it was closer.
Her breathing stopped. The voice sounded familiar… too familiar. It sounded like her own voice.
Her hands tightened into fists. She remembered the old man's warning.
If you hear your own voice calling you from inside the house… do not answer.
Her chest felt tight. Fear slowly spread through her stomach like ice.
She stepped away from the corridor entrance quickly. Her footsteps echoed louder as she walked faster toward the main hall.
But the whisper followed her.
"Elara… come back…"
The voice sounded softer now, almost sad. Almost pleading.
She covered her ears with her hands, trying to block it out. "Stop," she whispered to herself. "Just stop."
The whisper faded slowly.
When she finally reached the main hall, she leaned against a pillar, breathing heavily. Her eyes moved nervously across the room, expecting something to move or change again.
That's when she noticed something lying on the floor near the staircase.
A small leather notebook.
Elara frowned. She was sure it wasn't there earlier.
She walked toward it carefully and picked it up. The cover looked old and cracked, but the leather felt strangely warm… like someone had been holding it moments ago.
There were initials carved on the front.
E.Q.
Her breath caught.
"That's… my initials," she whispered.
Her fingers shook as she opened the notebook. The pages inside were yellow and fragile. The handwriting looked messy, rushed, almost desperate.
The first page read:
If you are reading this, it means the house has found you again.
Elara's heart dropped.
She quickly flipped to the next page.
You will not remember writing this. I didn't either the first time.
Her eyes widened as she continued reading.
The door doesn't just trap people. It traps versions of them. And every time you leave, it takes something from you.
Elara slammed the notebook shut, her breathing uneven.
A loud thud echoed from upstairs.
Slow footsteps followed… dragging across the wooden floor above her.
She looked up toward the staircase, her pulse racing.
The sound stopped directly above her.
Then, very slowly…
Dust began falling from the ceiling.
As if someone… or something… was standing right above where she was.